


flowers in her hair

by sioberry



Category: Reign (TV)
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-26
Updated: 2014-06-04
Packaged: 2018-01-26 16:45:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1695356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sioberry/pseuds/sioberry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Since Mary Stuart was a baby she has been betrothed to Prince Frederick of Denmark⸺but when the alliance ends Marie De Guise sends her daughter to spend the summer at French Court, in hopes of Mary securing a marriage with the Dauphin and therefore securing a French alliance for Scotland. Rated M for possible future smut. I would also like to thank the amazing valoisfrancis/jamespotterly for being my amazing beta, this story would not be the same without her input. I love you more than wednesdays, emma!♥</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. they all mean well

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! So this is my first fic in almost two years, it's safe to say I'm nervous but I hope you enjoy reading this story regardless. I in no way own the characters in this fic, they belong to the writers and creators of Reign.

”I wish to take a walk.” Mary announced as she rose from her seat in her chambers; her ladies in waiting rose with her. The book Mary was reading falls closed as she places it on her desk amongst the many letters she had received from her mother, Marie De Guise. 

The air outside is humid and Mary feels trapped in her corset but being inside the castle makes her feel caged; she isn’t sure which one she dislikes the most. Life at Danish Court isn’t what she’d ever thought her life there would be—or at least how she’d hoped it would be—Mary had always thought it would be full of wonderment, excitement and life. How wrong her assumptions had been. King Christian and Queen Dorothea had always been warm and welcoming and as a child Mary had always turned to Queen Dorothea, adapting to her like a mother in the absence of her own—but as her 14th birthday neared the court had become less friendly and more anxious, more impatient. It almost felt like the Danish Court were growing angry at how slow Mary was ageing, as if it was her fault that she wasn’t yet 14.

The once grand and welcoming castle had grown cold and dark; the thought of living out her days in such a place made Mary’s heart sink. This wasn’t the life she had hoped for but she kept her chin high and her heart open to Prince Frederick because Queens didn’t have the luxury of choosing their life partners. Royals simply married for alliances, to strengthen their countries and make their realm that much more powerful.

"Your Majesty." Mary turned to see a servant approaching her, bowing politely before folding her hands in front of her and waiting to be spoken to by the Queen of Scotland.

"Yes?" She tilted her head slightly, the servant looked slightly off kilter—worried or burdened.

"Your Grace, your Uncle is here to see you. He has brought some important news, he is waiting for you in the Throne Room."

She saw her Uncle, stood at the window overlooking the vast gardens of the Danish Court. They were beautifully kept and stunning on a warm summers day but her Uncle hadn’t travelled from France to comment on the Danish gardens; that much she knew. Mary’s Uncle turned to her as she entered the Throne Room, bowing in respect before walking to her and placing his hands on either side of her face.

“Why Mary you have grown into such a beautiful young girl, almost a woman. I cannot believe it has been almost 2 years since I saw you last. I am disappointed our reunion is on such unpleasant terms.” She smiled politely, taking her Uncle’s hands in her own.

“Uncle, it is wonderful to see you but I regret this being in such unfortunate circumstances. Please, tell me of your troubles.” Mary led them back to the window over-looking the gardens, nodding her head for her Uncle to begin.

“I’m afraid it is not my troubles that have brought me here today, Your Grace. Prince Frederick has found a new interest in a possible wife, she is titled and noble enough for him to marry and he needs to marry as soon as he can. I’m sad to say this, Mary but King Christian is becoming ill and the court advisers worry of Prince Frederick becoming King without a wife beside him.” Mary didn’t falter, she didn’t waver. If the Prince had lost interest in her this meant she could return home but it also meant Scotland was now weak with no alliance to stop the English from attacking the Scottish border.

“The King has agreed to the marriage of Prince Frederick and Lady Sophie of Mecklenburg-Güstrow. She is a descendant of King James of Denmark. The King and your mother have spoken; your mother has agreed to end the alliance. I’m afraid this means you won’t be marrying Prince Frederick but instead you will return to Scotland in the next few days until your mother secures you another husband.”

——————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

The next few days passed in a blur of packing, discussions with her Uncle over the finalities of the alliance ending with Denmark and brief and uncomfortable conversations with Prince Frederick. Mary was glad when all her things were packed and loaded onto the carriage which would take her to her Scottish boat, her transport back to Scotland. Her home. The fear of the English attacking the Scottish border was weighing on her chest—a feeling that had been present from the moment her Uncle had told her the alliance with Denmark was broken—but the excitement of returning home to her country, to her people, to her mother almost made the weight of war on her chest disappear; but only almost. The weight was always there, a constant feeling of worry and panic threatening to rise up into her throat and strangle her of all her oxygen.

Mary’s Uncle stood waiting for her outside her carriage, bowing as she approached him.

“Your Grace, are you ready for the long journey?” Her Uncle asked as he held her hand while she boarded the carriage.

“The journey I am not looking forward to but returning home to Scotland is what I am most excited for.” Mary looked out the window as the carriage pulled off, her heart a little lighter now she was free of the unwelcoming Danish Court.

“Mary, I’m afraid there has been a change of plan. You won’t be returning to Scotland, your mother fears it too dangerous. If the English learn of your return they will attack our borders in full force and attack the castle, ultimately taking you and your mother hostage.” Mary tore her attention away from the scenery of Denmark to meet her Uncle’s eyes with her own disappointed ones.

“Your mother has arranged for you to stay the summer at French Court at King Henry and Queen Catherine’s favour. If things go as we hope you will be engaged to the Dauphin by fall and married on your 14th birthday.” Her Uncle turned his attention to the scenery—like Mary had been doing before—effectively ending their conversation. France? Marry the Dauphin? This was just what Scotland needed but Mary had hoped with all of her heart she’d be able to return to Scotland even if it was just for a few fleeting days; but Mary was the Queen of Scotland and Queen’s did not have the luxury of choosing their life partners. Queen’s didn’t have the luxury of anything but pretty dresses.  
———————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

“Your Grace, we’re here.” Mary opened her eyes, her lids still heavy with sleep. The boat ride had been long and tedious, the seas particularly rough which prevented her from having any rest or very little of it—so she had slept the entire ride from the the docks to the castle. Mary looked out the window to see the scenery; she’d heard much about the beauty of France. The landscapes so beautiful it could take your breath away.

“It is stunning.” Mary whispered almost forgetting why she was being brought to France. You must secure the alliance with France, Mary. It is your duty as the Queen of Scotland. Her mother’s words rang in her ear, she had written to her the day her Uncle had come to visit her, the arrival of her mother’s letter had fallen on the day of her departure from Denmark. Prince Frederick has been looking for a new wife for almost a year; the alliance with Denmark hasn’t been secure for some time. I have been in contact with King Henry for a few months so don’t let my hard work go to waste. Scotland needs this.

“You have met Prince Francis, have you not Uncle? Are the rumours true? Is he short and sickly? Does he speak with a stutter?” Her Uncle laughed, shaking his head.

“You ask an awful lot of questions, Your Grace. Prince Francis is a very healthy young man and perfectly well proportioned.” Mary’s worries weren’t quite satisfied; Prince Frederick was tall and in good health. He wasn’t the most handsome man Mary had ever been in the company of but he would have made a good husband—much better than a sickly, short Prince with a stutter.

“And his stutter, Uncle?” Mary pressed further, her Uncle’s expression turned impatient her questions angering him.

“There are many rumours about royals, it would do you good to not listen to such nonsense.” The door to the carriage opened then; their page standing guard as her Uncle left the carriage, stepping out into the hot summer air of beautiful France.


	2. a queen any king would kill for

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is chapter 2 of flowers in her hair! Again I want to thank valoisfrancis for being an amazing beta (and friend), this fic wouldn't be the same without her. I love you emma-zing. I hope you all enjoy this chapter because here comes Francis.

Mary stepped out of the carriage, her eyes squinting against the harsh sun. Two French ladies-in-waiting were stood waiting for her, they curtsied before rushing to straighten out her dress, she had to be presentable because she was a Queen—maybe soon to be the Queen the France if she secured the alliance with the King just like her mother wanted.. Once the creases of her long journey were straightened out of her dress she moved to stand at her Uncle’s side.

The castle staff were lined up either side of a narrow concrete path that was also decorated with red flags, their colour swaying in the light breeze—offering a small relief of the blazing sun that was beating down on Mary’s back. The sound of the Herald’s voice echoed over the extensive grounds of the French Court.

“Her Majesty, Mary Queen of Scots.” That was Mary’s cue, she began to walk gracefully down the concrete path as the sound of the trumpets hurt her ears, blasting relentlessly. It was known that the French enjoyed to show off their wealth and power so the grand entrance they had given to Mary wasn’t something she hadn’t seen coming. The line of castle staff began to disappear and there she saw King Henry alongside Queen Catherine—their faces weren’t welcoming nor cold; it was more of a stoic look, like they were unfazed by the presence of a Queen.

“Your Grace I present to you His Majesty King Henry II of France, Her Majesty Queen Catherine of France and His Royal Highness Prince Francis II the Dauphin of France.” Mary curtsied, her eyes lowering to the floor as she did so. When she rose she nodded politely as they offered their bows and curtsies in return.

That’s when she saw him, the sun’s rays reflecting off of his blonde curls—Prince Francis II, the Dauphin of France. He was neither short nor sickly but tall and handsome; maybe on the skinny side but definitely handsome. Her cheeks heated slightly, her gaze on him wavering. 

“Queen Mary.” Mary took her gaze off of Francis to give her attention to the King. “I present to you my son, Francis and hopefully your future husband.”

Francis bowed before holding her gaze. “Your Grace, I hope you feel welcome here at French Court.” He didn’t miss how beautiful she was, her chocolate brown eyes holding his gaze. The beauty in her pale milk skin, the slight blush on her cheeks from the summer heat.

“Your Royal Highness, it is an honour to be spending the summer months here at French Court. I am sure I will enjoy my time here, thank you for your kindness.” Mary gave him a smile polite enough for a first meeting and he nodded in return, holding out his hand for her to take.

——————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

“Your Highness, Sebastian De Poitiers.” Francis nodded at his Page and seconds later Francis’ half-brother—Bash—entered his chambers.

“Ah, dear little brother please tell me you are not doing boring matters of state business in here?” Francis laughed and rolled his eyes, lucky bastard. Bash could do whatever he wanted, go where ever he pleased because no one worried about him dying or being captured because he wasn’t the heir to the throne or of any royal status. Just the King’s bastard son. Sometimes—all the time—Francis was jealous of the life Bash led.

“Spoken like a true bastard of a King. It may be boring to you but it’s important matters of state, our father has let me write a letter of negotiation to the Italian King, this is a big thing for him to entrust in me.” He knew Bash didn’t understand the importance of these things, he knew Bash cared more for riding his horses and hunting animals in the woods then what was happening in France. Francis didn’t blame him, it wasn’t his burden to share but sometimes he resented how carefree and unfazed Bash could be.

“Yes I know, it is all very important but you can be so uptight and serious. You need to loosen up sometimes, you are not the King yet.” Bash swiped an apple from Francis’ table and leaned against the desk where Francis was writing his letter to the Italian King. “I saw your beautiful bride-to-be when she arrived yesterday. She cuts quite the figure in her dress.” Francis scoffed.

“She is not my bride and she could have your head for that comment you just made. Be careful, Bash. I beg of you.” Francis rose from his seat at his desk, handing his brother the letter. “Give this to father’s Chancellor, let him know I want to be notified on any changes he might wish to make.”

Bash gave Francis a wink and a slap on the arm before heading for the door—he stopped short with his hand on the doorknob. “Try not to be so disappointed about the Queen of Scot’s presence here at court, it’s rather impolite and I don’t think father would approve if you made her feel unwelcome here.” Francis waved his hand, signalling Bash to leave. God damn him.

————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

Francis announced his presence to the Page stationed outside Mary’s chambers—he folded his arms behind his back and waited for the Page to announce him to Mary.

“You may enter, Your Highness.” Francis nodded his thanks and entered Mary’s chambers. Francis bowed before approaching her.

“There is a festival being thrown in your honour tonight and I have come to ask if you would do me the pleasure of attending the festival by my side?” He watched as a small smile spread across her face, it made a weird feeling tickle the inside of his stomach but he pushed it away—it was probably the nerves of trying to please his father by making Mary feel welcome.

Mary rose from her seat at her reading table, closing her book and setting it aside. Prince Frederick had never asked her to accompany him to any royal festivities in her entire time she spent at Danish Court. The stark differences between Frederick and Francis were beginning to show; another odd gesture was that Francis had come to her chambers himself and had not sent word through his servants or her ladies-in-waiting. Frederick never spoke to her directly.

“I would be honoured to accompany you to the festival, Your Highness.” She examined him as he stood by her desk, all blonde hair and long legs—his crystal blue eyes fixed on her face, the sun creating an allusion of his crystal eyes sparkling like light reflecting off of a lake or the ocean. She shifted slightly, her gaze dropping from his before clearing her throat. “If that is everything you have come to ask me, you may leave.” She watched as he nodded in agreement, exiting her chambers in one graceful movement.


	3. we've positioned ourselves for the worst sort of pain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is 2 days late but I've been so busy I haven't had time to update this fic. Hope you enjoy this chapter!

Mary stood still as one of her ladies-in-waiting finished doing up the laces of the corset that sat on top of her tunic—she dazed off as the tedious job of getting dressed was finished. Mary had explored the castle after Francis had left her chambers and she had found how beautiful yet haunting the French castle was. The guards eyed her suspiciously while the servants whispered and giggled behind their hands as she passed them. Her life at Danish Court had been much of the same towards the end, Mary was beginning to think she wasn’t welcome anywhere.

“Your Grace, are you okay?” Mary snapped out of her thoughts and nodded in answer.

“Quite well, thank you. Have you finished with my corset?” The servant nodded in answer to Mary’s question, Mary smiled and waved her hand for them to leave. She could finish getting herself ready. Mary looked at her dress—the underlayer was beige in colour but the top layer was a white floral lace. The most beautiful piece of the dress was the diamond encrusted belt, the diamonds glinted in the sun—making them look even more dazzling than they already were.

———————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

“Your Majesty, the Dauphin is here to escort you down to the festival.” Mary’s Page announced, she waved her hand to signal the Page to let Francis into her chambers.

“Are you ready to leave for the festival, Your Grace?” Francis asked as he entered the Queen’s chambers but he stopped short when his eyes fell upon her. She looked stunning, a vision in white—and the crown of red roses on her head made him smile.

“Yes, Your Highness.” She replied, placing her hand on top of his as they left her chambers. Francis was a handsome boy, his blonde hair and blue eyes did him favours—but the red coat made him seem more of a man, more like a soon-to-be King. She smiled to herself, secretly happy that somehow they had managed to match their attire. Her crown of red roses was a subtle match to his bold red coat.

———————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

The festival was in full swing, the servants busy attending to the needs of all the royals and nobles in attendance—and all the royals and nobles well on their way to a headache the next morning. The contrast between the French festivals and the Danish festivals were almost laughable; at Danish Court everybody was reserved and talked in polite quiet tones while sipping small amounts of wine. French Court was full of nobles falling over their own feet and laughing a bit too loudly, everybody was dancing and drinking far too much.

“Your Majesty.” Mary turned to see one of her ladies-in-waiting, she curtsied and Mary nodded for her to speak. “The King has asked for an audience with you, he waits by the lake with Lady Diane.” Her lady-in-waiting hurried off then, Mary followed her figure to find she stopped beside a man—a noble looking man—at least her ladies were having some fun.

Mary made her way over to where the King waited with his mistress, they looked deep in conversation. The King was tenderly stroking Diane’s cheek; a genuine smile on his face. The happiness radiated off of them in waves, Mary almost felt like she was intruding on an intimate moment.

“Your Majesty, you wished to see me.” She announced herself before curtising, her gaze catching that of Francis’—who stood off to left of his father, talking to a pretty blonde girl who seemed to be smiling rather too widely for Mary’s liking.

“Yes, Mary, I have been informed that your ladies-in-waiting from Scotland should be arriving from the docks tomorrow afternoon.” The King nodded his head and before Mary could see who he was nodding to she felt Francis’ presence beside her. “Francis will accompany you to greet them in the palace courtyard.” The King took Diane’s hand then and led her further towards the lake.

“Would you care to dance, Your Grace?” Francis saw her eyes lingering on her father—and although he knew it was more because of the happiness his father and Diane radiated it still unnerved him. He watched Mary’s eyes snap back to him and the little spark in them made his own lips tug up into a smile. He led her towards the makeshift dance floor where a few noble couples danced.

“How is it that a Dauphin isn’t already betrothed?” Mary asked as she and Francis danced, her eyes trained to his face for any signs of another woman he may have loved—or may still love.

“I was betrothed to a noble girl with a substantial dowry but my father thought it best I trade in a great dowry for a great kingdom.” As soon as the words left his mouth Francis knew he shouldn’t have said it—Mary was a guest, here at the King’s favour. Making a guest of the King’s feel unwelcome wasn’t the kind of thing his father would be pleased to hear.

“Your father thought it best? I assume by your tone you do not wish to marry me.” Mary’s defenses came flying up, the Danish Court was unwelcoming but no one ever said she was unwanted to her face. The strange feeling of rejection started to seep through her like water through a garment—her stomach felt uneasy but she wouldn’t run away upset or in tears. She was a Queen and she would not let a Prince tell her she was not wanted.

“I apologize, Your Grace. I did not mean to offend you.” He was stupid, completely and utterly stupid—the last thing France needed was to offend Scotland’s Queen even if Scotland’s army were weak and small in comparison to the French—it still would not be wise to make an enemy out of Scotland.

“No. Please, speak freely. I would like to know what you think of the matter. Why the Prince of France resents my presence at French Court.” Mary whipped her gaze back to Francis, the fury in her eyes evident.

“I do not resent your presence here, Your Grace. Please, accept my apology. France does not wish to become Scotland’s enemy.” Francis could see the anger in her eyes, the once warm chocolate brown eyes seemed to shine brightly with white hot anger.

“No you do not wish to become Scotland’s enemy but you do not wish to become her ally either. I command you as a Queen to tell me your reasons, speak freely.” Mary’s voice came out in a hiss, her emotions running high—her anger beginning to get the better of her. You need to control your anger, it gets you into trouble Mary. Her mother’s words began ringing in her ears. You must keep your anger at bay, Queen’s do not lose their tempers.

“Scotland is under constant threat, Your Grace. The English are always sending their troops to your border, pushing for a reaction. I do not think France would benefit from an alliance with Scotland, the risk of our men losing their lives to defend your country is too high.” Francis’ gaze wandered over the gardens of the French Court, he could feel the anger pulsating off of Mary and he began to feel uncomfortable—he knew he’d not only angered her but upset her and it wasn’t sitting well with him. Suddenly he felt her pull away from him, effectively stopping their dancing.

“I’m sorry you think of Scotland as a potential noose around your neck. Rest assured I know where I am not wanted and for both our sakes I hope your father agrees against this marriage.” Mary turned and left the dance floor, leaving Francis stood there on his own.

Damn him! Damn him and his opinions. Damn herself and her temper. Scotland needed the alliance with France to stop the English from overthrowing her and taking her crown for themselves—but of course her anger could have completely destroyed her chance at securing the safety of her country and it’s people.

———————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

Francis left the dance floor feeling crestfallen and pissed off—why did he ever open his mouth? He left the festival in search of his brother, finding him outside the stables nursing a mug of wine.

“Why hello there little brother, I thought you were escorting Queen Mary to the festival?” Bash shouted as he saw Francis approaching—he noticed the sulky expression on his brother’s face and a smile lit up his own face. “You ruined it, didn’t you?”

“Shut up, Bash!” Francis growled, snatching Bash’s mug of wine from his hands—throwing his head back and chugging the wine down. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand before letting out a moan of annoyance.

“What did you do? Make an inappropriate remark about her breasts or did you open your big mouth and tell her of your dislike towards the alliance.” Francis shoved his brothers arm, effectively sending him tripping over his own feet and almost landing on the floor.

“I think the comment on her breasts may have done less damage. What have I done?” Francis groaned, pulling at his hair as he began to pace. The repercussions of this could be terrible, especially when his father found out. Mary had looked so angry, if it had not been at his expense Francis would have found her anger to be endearing.

“You definitely should have said something about her breasts.”

“Shut up!” Francis growled, storming off towards the castle with his brother’s laugh echoing behind him.


End file.
